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Thursday, March 20, 2014

Trussed & Mussed in Georgetown

Our
boat’s only 36 feet, but the dock finger’s still well

short of
where we’d normally step onto a dock.

Okay, I admit my sailing
skills are less than stellar, despite my time aboard. I’m far more comfortable “on the hook.” Grabbing a bobbing piece
of line on the end of a long pole and through the chalk on our bow aka, setting
a mooring ball anchorage is getting easier. But while I’ve never been crazy about docking, I didn’t
realize how much easier I had it with the Pacific Northwest’s floating docks,
especially compared to fixed docks, which is what we’ve encountered in every
marina and fuel dock in the Southern Florida and the Bahamas we’ve gone to so
far (Marathon FL, Bimini, Nassau, Georgetown).

Compare
the length of Wayne’s leg to the length needed to step

from boat
to dock and vice versa and keep in mind I’m

a half
foot shorter. This is typical of a fixed dock, prevalent

throughout
the Bahamas. Wayne takes a big step;

I
practically rappel.

For the fortunate
uninitiated….

A floating dock goes up when
the tide goes up, down when the tide goes down. So the distance from your boat to the dock will always be
the same. A fixed dock, and the
ones we’ve seen here are generally propped up on something akin to telephone
poles, don’t go up. That means if
your boat is comparatively dimunutive, like ours, best case, high tide, the
step’s maybe a foot or so from dock to boat. When the tide drops, the distance increases, often here to
about 3 feet. Usually there is no
ladder, handle or peg to grap when crossing the void. Just a post. While Wayne just takes a big step, I find myself desperately
seeking a way to hug or grab the pole, the way a drunk might embrace a lamp
post. I feel like I’m
rappelling.

Two of
the five lines it took for us to tie off in dock. The rear of

those two
starboard side lines is the 360 degree

water-bound
post.

My sphincter muscles clenched
as we approached Georgetown’s Exuma Yacht Club (EYC). Wayne was more concerned about getting past the shallows into
the marina; my fear was in docking, and leaving the dock. We were overnighting at EYC to avoid
subjecting Wayne’s folks to an oh-dark-hundred bone-jarring and potentially wet
5-horse-driven slow 2-mile dinghy ride with suitcases to catch their 7:20 am
flight out. We enjoyed cruising a
week with them, and wanted their sendoff to be as stress-free as possible.

Fortunately, dockmaster
Clevon and a passing cruiser made our trip in blissfully uneventful, despite
the tight fit and the need for five dock lines to truss us into position.

Three of
the five dock lines on this side.

Leaving, however, was
another matter. A steady onshore
wind sneered at our wimpy reverse, quickly slapping our bow perpendicular from
our desired direction. We found
our stern mounted dinghy and solar panels pressed against the side of a vacant parallel
slip. Several folks stopped to
help. “We’ve all been there,” one
commented, reassuringly. We
eventually righted ourselves for exit with several cruisers and Clevon’s help;
he hopped aboard to push us more forcefully off the dock. At last, away we went. The problem was, Clevon needed to get
back!

“I never get to go sailing
anymore; too busy working.This is
great!” Clevon quipped, beaming. His ride alas, was short lived.A minute later, we dropped him off at Exuma Yacht Cub’s end
dock, free of obstructions in the prevailing wind direction.

Phil,
Wayne’s Dad, relaxing before the no-see-ums and

then
mosquitos attacked in port at Georgetown. He and wife

Gunnel
were not there to witness out messy exit.

Given our full fuel, water
and propane tanks, no incoming guests, and enough time to minimize the need to
motor, we’re betting it will be quite a while before our next docking
adventure.